


No Place Like Home

by sahem62896



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Oz (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1885716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahem62896/pseuds/sahem62896
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to "<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1360273">The Waking Hours</a>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Place Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> As usual, I own nothing. This is for fun.

 

_"Oh, just to be with you is having the best day of my life..." —Dido_

 

When Toby arrived home that evening, Chris was asleep on the couch with one arm folded underneath his head and one foot tucked under the afghan. Vern was perched on his stomach with his forepaws folded under him. As he quietly dropped his keys into the ceramic bowl on the small end table next to the door, Toby met the cat's disapproving stare with one of his own. He raised one eyebrow after a few seconds and Vern looked away, huffing with annoyance. Toby smiled and mentally patted himself on the back for beating the feline at his own game one more time before setting down his briefcase and stepping out of his shoes. Outside the windows, Yorkville and Long Island City twinkled beneath a sky the color of dark wine. Horns honked and a lone siren wailed in the streets below. In the apartment, however, the light was low and soothing. The torchy sound of smooth jazz hung in the air and mingled with the smell of garlic, marinara sauce and seared ground beef. One whiff conjured up images of Chris twisting his fork into the pile of spaghetti on his plate and widening his eyes as he popped it into his mouth. Loosening his tie, Toby stepped into the kitchen to claim the portion that Chris had prepared and left for him in the refrigerator. 

It had been a long, hard day at the law firm. In the morning, a pretty young attorney named Katherine McClain who worked for the Alliance on Prisoners' Rights had come to consult with him about a representing a prisoner named Cyril O'Riley who had the mental capability of a four-year old but was found guilty of and incarcerated for the murder of a doctor's husband in the Bronx. Ironically, O'Reilly was serving time on death row in Oswald - the same place Chris had been dreaming about the night before, and McClain was trying desperately to build a case to have him transferred to an in-patient facility despite the objections of his brother who was also serving time in Oz and had appointed himself Cyril's legal guardian. While he listened to McClain ramble on about the details of his case and took copious amounts of notes, Toby found that on many occasions during their conversation his attention was being drawn to some frighteningly clear mental images that had been conjured up by Chris's retelling of the dream he had had the night before... a dream in which he was serving time there himself for DUI and vehicular manslaughter and was getting gang-raped and tortured by a brood of neo-Nazis. He had found himself unable to eat lunch as he considered Cyril O'Reilly in those same circumstances, and it was especially nerve-racking to realize that he would probably have no idea what was happening to him or why. 

Things had not gotten better later that afternoon when a case he desperately did not want to take on was dropped on his desk. Adam Guenzel, the son of a family friend, and one of his buddies had been arrested on charges of rape and assault. His parents, a well-known couple in New York's high society, had hired him to defend Adam. Toby would rather have been on fire than taken that case because any kind of scandal affecting such a prominent family was sure to bring unwanted press and attention upon them and also himself. Also, he had known Adam all his life and had found him to be an entitled snob even in his youth. The passage of time had not softened that bratty personality one little bit. While his friend and accomplice sat in another interrogation room silently pissing himself in fear and waiting for his attorney to show up, Adam brazenly told everyone within earshot that they had no idea whom they were fucking with and that he'd have every single one of their badges in his pocket by the time this was done. The detectives who had arrested him were an odd match. One of them was a tall, leathery drink of water in a pair of tinted eyeglasses, and the other was a snarling tough guy who looked as if he would be more comfortable rapping about the mean streets of South Central Los Angeles than behind a desk at NYPD's 16th Precinct. And although they made an incongruous pair, they were one hundred percent tired of dealing with the unrepentant little prick and were more than happy to hand him over to someone to whom he might actually listen. Toby spent the hours that followed with his client unsuccessfully trying to convince him and his parents that the DA's case was very solid and that it might be in his best interest to consider a deal if one was made available. All three Guenzels were outraged at the suggestion and refused to believe Toby when he warned them that seventeen year old Adam could be tried as an adult. Adam, of course, was the loudest voice in that room, and had not just waved away Toby's advice but had told him to stick it right up his ass, insisting that Toby had been brought on board to make all of this go away and that he'd better fucking do it or else. His parents, who saw nothing but their little boy sitting between them in an unbecoming orange jumpsuit and handcuffs, had only looked silently at Toby and pleaded with their eyes for something more assertive and optimistic. Sitting there, looking at the smug little shit and his oblivious parents, Toby found himself thinking that Adam was really the one who deserved to be locked in a glass box with a roommate who would make him his slave and then break his arms and legs. The naked spite behind the thought had shocked him; he was not the type to conjure up such images. It was only on his way back from the precinct that he recalled that Chris had said described such a scene that morning when he had been telling him and their roommate Olivia about that dream. The realization had made him shudder in spite of the warm spring evening. 

With his hand inches away from the closed door of the refrigerator, Toby thought about his sleeping boyfriend whose twisted little brain had conjured up that dream in the first place. He felt a real ache of discomfort and wished Olivia was not on the other side of the Atlantic at that moment. This morning, the two of them had been laughing and joking around about it; they had even gone so far as to quote the final monologue from _The Wizard of Oz_ to bring levity to the situation. That was her coping mechanism, Toby supposed, and it was a good one for him too. Chris had his writing to keep him insulated from the things his own mind could conjure up in the wee hours of the morning. Toby, meanwhile, had no comparable coating on his wires. His job usually provided adequate distraction, but today it had not.

There was, however, one other thing that would help.

Sighing and ignoring the growl of his empty stomach, Toby made a slow one-eighty and drifted back to the living room. Vern saw Toby approaching and his golden eyes narrowed in disdain before he abandoned his station with a soundless leap to the floor. Chris grunted and his eyes flew open as the cat jumped off his belly. He blinked and shook his head a bit. Toby smiled and took a seat by Chris's feet.

"Well, hello there!" Chris said sleepily.

"Hi hon," Toby said, extracting Chris's foot from under the afghan and digging his thumbs into the arch.

"How was your day?" Chris asked, enjoying the little foot massage Toby was providing.

Toby looked into Chris's eyes and shook his head. "Don't wanna talk about it."

"You alright?"

Toby pointed at Chris's chest. "I will be if, uh..."

The corners of Chris's mouth turned up a bit at the corners. "Okay, counselor, come here," he said, scooting over a bit and tapping his shoulder with his fingertips.

Toby didn't dawdle. He carefully maneuvered his way over to Chris's side and lay down so that his back was against the back of the sofa and his shoulder was wedged in the nook of Chris's arm. His right hand found a spot between the two nicely rounded pecs, and his right leg wrapped itself around the other man's. Fingers slipped their way into Toby's hair and gently scratched the back of his head. Toby took a deep breath and let it out slowly as the sole of his foot secured itself against the instep of Chris's.

"Better?" Chris asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Toby hummed as he nodded.

"Hey..."

"What?"

"I got started on that first draft," Chris said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, so you won't have to shiv me after all," he said.

Toby smiled, remembering that he had used similar words to encourage Chris to turn that dream into his next book. "Atta boy," he murmured.

"You want to see it after dinner maybe?"

Toby closed his eyes. "No more Oz. Not tonight."

"What do you mean 'No more Oz'?"

Toby shook his head. "Nothing."

Chris smiled. "Okay," he said and gently kissed the top of Toby's head. "I made you a plate..." he began.

"Later," Toby whispered.

"Okay."

Eventually, Toby's own breathing fell into rhythm with the rise and fall of Chris's chest and the noise of his own head went quiet. All there was was the mellow voice of the saxophone on the radio and the comfort of having the one he loved nearby.


End file.
